


The Loss of Lavoisier

by jdmcool



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock muddles through the day after the great loss of his teddy bear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Loss of Lavoisier

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19351.html?thread=114465175#t114465175) at the Sherlock Kink Meme.

What should’ve been a rather average day had turned into anything but due to an open window and a cat that Sherlock was ready to skin. How the damn thing had even gotten into his room, he’d never know, but he did know that when he walked in later that day after getting some information from one of his associates, his room was in complete disarray and in the center lay the casualty that was Lavoisier.

It was something John had initially dismissed as being no big deal, but Sherlock knew only too well that his friend wasn’t nearly as keen as himself when it came to certain matters. Still, his remark was idiotic and Sherlock couldn’t help but inform him of such a fact, pointing out that it wasn’t just some teddy bear, it was his teddy bear and quite necessary in his daily life. That it had been his since he was little and was a rather good companion when he went off to school and university and moved to London and could be a great deal cleverer than John when it came to experiments.

In the end, John had frantically apologized and offered to get him a new one, but when he noticed the death glare Sherlock was giving him, he promptly shut up all together. Which was exactly what he wanted. The idiots of the world were the last thing he needed; of course, it was also the first thing he had received, thanks to Lestrade calling him about a case.

So he had gone along to the crime scene and managed to be his usual self, or so he thought. He couldn’t help but notice that while he was inspecting the body, John seemed to linger closer to the yarders, an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry about him. He uh… Lost someone. Well, thing?”

“Common decency? Because I don’t remember him having that in the first place,” Anderson sniped.

John rolled his eyes at that and shook his head. “No. His room was destroyed by a stray or something. Wrecked his teddy bear.”

“Freak still sleeps with a teddy?” Donovan questioned, amused grin all over her face.

“It’s not like it’s all that weird,” John said, trying to defend him as usual.

“A grown man sleeping with a teddy bear? I’d say that was pretty weird,” she scoffed.

Sherlock did his best to ignore her, as her opinion was generally useless anyways, but John had managed to start a conversation which mean that the yarders weren’t going to be shutting up anytime soon.

“I have one. Well, not a bear, but I have one,” Lestrade pointed out casually. When it got everyone’s attention on him, Donovan and Anderson looking stunned, John trying to hide a smirk and Sherlock, well, glaring for their continued conversation, Lestrade sighed. “My wife got me this stuffed elephant thing back when we were dating. It’s not weird.”

“Right. It’s perfectly normal for grown men to sleep with stuffed animals. Makes sense,” Donovan said sarcastically.

“Alright, get back to work,” Lestrade ordered, not enjoying the conversation now that he was the focus.

Sherlock was just glad for the silence. He didn’t want pity or snide remarks; he wanted the one thing he knew he wasn’t likely to get, no matter how childishly it happened to seem. And when it was all said and done, he had a case that he couldn’t actually bring himself to care about. Sure, he spent the majority of the day helping Lestrade solve it, but that was only because he had serious doubts that they would figure it out on their own. After all, for him, it was painfully easy to figure out, a row between two friends gone wrong in the process of trying to commit a far bigger crime, but he didn’t want to be near them. He wanted to be alone in his room mourning his losses.

Another thing that didn’t seem likely because even with John making his leave for one of his little dates, there was still someone in 221B when he returned home at the end of the day and really, wasn’t that just perfect?

“What are you doing here Mycroft?” Sherlock asked rather angrily as he walked into the flat. The fact that he would have to deal with his brother on what was one of the worst days of his life, omitting any incident that nearly resulted in his death, was just the cherry on top of his most miserable day.

Looking up from the book he was likely just pretending to be interested in Mycroft said, “I heard about Lavoisier. My condolences.”

“It was a stuffed animal. Hardly any cause for dramatics.”

If Mycroft had anything particularly scathing to say about Sherlock making comments about dramatics, he didn’t say it. Instead, he walked over to his little brother and patted his shoulder comfortingly. “If you want I can get you another.”

“I don’t want another. They wouldn’t be Lavoisier anyways.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I suppose I’ll leave you to the rampant insomnia I suspect you’ll be suffering through.”

Sherlock only rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to have his brother replace Lavoisier because there wasn’t a teddy bear in the world that compared to his worn out old teddy. It had been his since he was a boy and nothing was going to change the fact that he was gone thanks to a stray cat that Sherlock desperately wanted to maim.

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” Mycroft called out as he made his way out.

“Mycroft,” he said softly.

Sighing, he looked around the living, trying to think of a way to occupy himself. John was likely out at his latest girlfriend’s, whatever her named happened to be. Honestly, he didn’t care given the fact that they never lasted long. But with John gone and Mrs. Hudson likely already having retired to her bed, he knew there was little that would occupy his oddly quiet mind, since his depression seemed to do wonders for the endless flow of thoughts that usually bombarded him.

Wandering into his room, Sherlock flung himself onto his bed. Opening his eyes to try to find something to keep him busy, he furrowed his brows in confusion at the box on his bed. Grabbing it, he opened it, tearing away the tissue paper before smiling at the contents.

Pulling out the bear, he looked it over. It may not have been Lavoisier with his little white lab coat, but Sherlock knew the stuffed animal well enough, feeling quite certain that he would be able to spot the ridiculous bow tie around its neck anywhere. After all, Bear was the very reason he’d been given Lavoisier in the first place, as Mycroft was unwilling to leave it with him when he went off to university after catching onto the fact that Sherlock had been the one to hide it when it when he went off to school.

Lying back on his bed, he smiled at Bear. “I always said I would get you away from him one day. Clearly I was right,” he declared rather proudly before getting up.

Grabbing Lavoisier’s old, stained lab coat, he put it on Bear before placing the stuffed animal on the corner of his desk. It may not have been exactly the same, but it was enough to get Sherlock’s mind firing off once again. He knew he would very likely work through the majority of the night before settling down for a brief kip with the stuffed bear he knew would smell like chemicals and the man kind enough to give up his precious stuffed animal when it mattered.


End file.
